“Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to
replenish it's source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It
dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of
tarnishings.” Anais Nin
How true this is...it makes me sad for many reasons. When people just give up and would rather factor in the costs of things...or worse, when a person hasn't dealt with issues and just run away/pushed away their feelings/memories and have not been accountable for actions or lack of action.
Does distance make one stronger or weaker? Does it matter? I always thought that love transcends these things. I still believe that. I know, for some, this is not the case. And I pity them...pity them more than I can express.
I am thankful and grateful for my life and family. When Jon and I were married our minister read this:
Sonnet 116
How true this is...it makes me sad for many reasons. When people just give up and would rather factor in the costs of things...or worse, when a person hasn't dealt with issues and just run away/pushed away their feelings/memories and have not been accountable for actions or lack of action.
Does distance make one stronger or weaker? Does it matter? I always thought that love transcends these things. I still believe that. I know, for some, this is not the case. And I pity them...pity them more than I can express.
I am thankful and grateful for my life and family. When Jon and I were married our minister read this:
Sonnet 116
(Let Me Not to the Marriage of True Minds)
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.[1]
I feel the same way for him. I feel this for my family and friends as well. I feel sad when it isn't reciprocated by some long distance family, and, in fact, deliberately forgotten.This sonnet is how I know my mother loves my father and will do anything and all she can for him. That is love.
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.[1]
I feel the same way for him. I feel this for my family and friends as well. I feel sad when it isn't reciprocated by some long distance family, and, in fact, deliberately forgotten.This sonnet is how I know my mother loves my father and will do anything and all she can for him. That is love.
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